


The Family Stone

by MathIsMagic



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU: Jon raises a dragon in the north, F/M, Gen, GoT: Jon Snow raises a Dragon in the North, Kid Fic, mostly implied - Freeform, sometimes a family is a king a queen a dragon two wolves and a bunch of strays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 20:14:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20431793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathIsMagic/pseuds/MathIsMagic
Summary: It doesn't look like much.





	The Family Stone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Artemis1000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis1000/gifts).

It doesn’t look like much.

It’s an oblong rock, a mineral at best. It comes with a good story, though even the merchant who presents it doesn’t seem to believe it’s really a dragon egg. But it sparkles prettily, and Sansa’s name day is coming soon, so Ned buys it because it makes her smile.

She puts it near the fire in her bedroom, where the flickering flame best brings out the shining silver veins. They seem to dance, as if the rock was really alive. Sansa and Jeyne giggle over it, sharing daydreams about lost Targaryen princes making them Queens to thank them for protecting his family’s treasure.

Jon smirks with Robb and Theon as they joke about ‘girls and their shiny things’ but secretly he understands why Sansa loves it. It’s beautiful, almost enchanting. Jon wants to stare at it and dream of dragons and princes too.

One day, Jon is coming in from training in the yard, desperately looking forward to a hot bath, when he hears shouting down the hall. He dashes down the stone corridor, and finds himself in front of Sansa’s room. Her door is open, and Jon can see two people inside. Sansa stands at the far side of her room, clearly having been caught in the middle of putting up her hair. Theon stands nearer the door, by the fire. He’s holding the egg-like stone over his head, like he might smash it on the floor.

“Theon, don’t you dare!” She shrieks, voice shrill and eyes watering.

“Or what, you’ll tell on me again?” The Greyjoy heir sneers. 

Jon tries to intervene. “Theon-” he starts. The boy looks at him, and grimaces, realizing he’s caught. With one last sneer at Sansa, he tosses the stone in the fire, and dashes past Jon, out of the room. Sansa lets out a wordless cry, drawing his attention to her and the stone.

The stone blackens with soot, obscuring its beautiful silver streaks, as the rough surface cracks and bubbles in the heat. Sansa’s face twists, and her heartbroken look tugs at something in him. She’s never been his favorite sister, but that doesn’t mean he’s okay with her hurting.

Without thinking, Jon thrusts his hands into the fire, and pulls the stone out. The shallow cuts on his hands from training twinge as his hands scrape the rough surface of the egg, but he barely notices the pain. The warmth from the stone pulls at him, leaving him staring dumbly at the hot egg in his hands. All he can think is that it’s lighter than he expected it to be.

“Jon!” a familiar voice shrieks, and suddenly the stone is gone from his hands. Sansa had knocked it out of his hand, back into the fire, in fact, and for a moment, Jon was angry. The crackling of the fire filled his ears, pressing on his thoughts. Did she hate her  _ bastard  _ brother so much she would rather let her things burn than have him hold them?

But the unusual hatred that seared through him died just a moment later. The roar of the fire was just a quiet crackling, and Sansa was in front of him, upset, not at him, but for him.

“Oh Jon, you stupid, idiotic… what possessed you?” She mumbled as she fussed over his hands, gently coaxing him to unclench his fist so she could see his palms. Jon lets her take his hands, eyes still on the beautiful stone she has forgotten, cracking in the fire. Sansa didn’t seem to notice. Her murmuring trailed off.

“Jon? Jon!” He realizes she’s trying to get his attention, and he tears his eyes from the fire. “Jon, your  _ hands.” _

He looks down towards his hands resting in hers, palms up… and unburnt. A little sooty, perhaps, and lightly bleeding from scrapes; the stone’s ridges are surprisingly sharp for how delicate they look. But his hands were not burnt. 

“Do you know what this  _ means? _ ” She breathes, and Jon again forces himself to focus. 

“No,” he admits, confused and scared, brain stuck stuttering in a loop. Stone. Fire. Flesh. Unburnt. Him.

“Sansa? Is everything okay?” Jon was pulled from his thoughts as Jeyne peeked into the room curiously. She couldn’t possibly see from where she was standing that his hands were black with soot, not burnt. But, clearly she saw  _ something  _ had happened to his hands, given the flickers of disgust and horror when she looked at him. 

Suddenly, a small length of Sansa’s delicate,  _ precious  _ silk scrap was thrown over his hands, covering them from view. Sansa grabbed Jon’s wrists, holding him steady and ensuring the cloth didn’t slip off. 

“Jeyne! Go bring me bandages, and water! Jon’s burned his hands! And keep it quiet!” Sansa ordered. Jeyne obeyed instinctively. Jon himself flinched; Sansa was very good at mimicking Lady Catelyn’s imperious tone, which is why it took him a moment to process what Sansa had actually  _ said. _

“My hands are fine though…” he murmured. Too much was happening at once.

“Shhhh!” Sansa turned back to the doorway of her room. She checked that there was no one else out in the hall that could have heard, before closing and locking her door. “No one can know that your hands are okay! You have to pretend you’re really hurt! Let me bandage them up. Theon and Jeyne will both be expecting burns.”

The earlier panic is gone from her face, replaced with wolfish determination. For a second, he’s struck by how much she looks like her father when he’s facing down an unruly bannerman, never mind that her features are all Lady Catelyn’s. 

“Jon,” she says, more seriously than Jon has ever heard her speak. And Sansa is a very serious person. “No one can know.”

“I- what?”

“No one can know! They’ll kill you! Don’t you understand?”

“What, why?” How in the world had she reached  _ that  _ conclusion? He hadn’t done anything! Well, except be born. But even bastardry didn’t merit execution!

“You stuck your hands into the fire, and they didn’t burn. Didn’t you ever listen to the stories? Jon, you’ve got  _ Targaryen _ blood in you. And King Robert wants all the Targaryens  _ dead.” _

Jon hated how sure Sansa sounded, how  _ right  _ she sounded in her analysis of the situation. He wanted to brush her off, to tell her she was just dreaming, caught up in her stupid stories like she always was. But. She wasn’t wrong. She wasn’t  _ wrong,  _ that his hands were unburnt, and that only Targaryens could do that. That King Robert wants every last Targaryen dead.

Because of what they did to Lyanna Stark.

A loud crack in the fireplace jolts Jon from his spiraling thoughts, from realizations he doesn’t want to acknowledge.

“Oh gods.”

The cousins watch Sansa’s glittering trinket crack, not from the heat of the flame, but from the efforts of the tiny creature within. From the flames, a small bit of Jon’s blood smeared on his brow from the egg, emerged a living, breathing, squirming baby dragon.

XxXxX

That night, Theon is absent from dinner, as part of his punishment for destroying Sansa’s things. The young girl is incredibly distressed, and goes on loudly about how stressful this day was for her. Her parents fuss over her tears, until Arya gets annoyed and starts flinging food, further drawing attention to the head table. It’s all very normal, as if her world hadn’t been turned upside down today.

With all eyes on Sansa, nobody notices that Jon’s fingers are just a little too nimble under their bandages, or how he carefully hides away extra meat and bones from the table. Little Lya is surely starving for dinner by now. In the commotion, Jon gets up to leave before someone sees how his pockets bulge. 

Just before stepping out, he catches Sansa’s eye, and for a moment that wolfish gaze is back beneath her dramatic tears. Jon gives her a quick smile of his own, grateful for her help. They will meet tonight, in the Godswood, as they had previously decided.

Years from now, when he sits on the Iron Throne with Sansa at his side, Lya standing guard over her parents and her pack, Jon will remember today as the start of an unlikely partnership that would change all of Westeros.

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE thank you to my beta readers, whom I will properly credit after author reveals. You all were awesome and SO helpful.


End file.
